There was no reply to this, not even the rustle of Virginia’s garments. The colonel waited, rubbing his chin. At last he thought it better to leave something to her imagination. “Have a bottle of ginger ale, Jinny? It’ll do your head good.” She laughed hysterically. He could hear it. It was a musical laugh, but it was full of tears. His hand clenched. “You get better!” he called to her. “I want you to drive up the mountain to-morrow and look at Colonel Russell’s mare. He wants to sell her for a lady’s saddle-horse. I reckon you’d like her, Jinny. It’ll take you about half the day. You can lunch with Mrs. Barbour. The doctor met me in town to-day, and he said his wife wanted you out to luncheon at the farm to-morrow.” There was a rustle this time. “I think I’ll go. Thank you, grandpa. You’re an angel--I mean about the horse.” The old man cackled. “Not in any other way, eh, Jinny?” “You go to your dinner! You’ll get no compliments here,” she called back gaily. But it was a tremulous gaiety. The old man knew it, and he suspected the headache. He went slowly and thoughtfully down-stairs. Dinner was already served in the quaint dining-room, Plato standing erect and black as ebony behind the colonel’s chair. The old man glanced contentedly at the white damask and the old-fashioned service. “What have you got for dinner, Plato?” he asked as he sat down. Plato went over a modest menu. “Got some deviled crabs, col’nel. Yessuh, got ’em dis mornin’ when yo’ was in court--bigges’ crabs I’s seen dis season.” The colonel considered. “Plato, you take a deviled crab up to Miss Jinny’s room. If she doesn’t eat it, I’ll ’phone for Dr. Barbour.” Unconsciously, the colonel was applying Miranda’s panacea for all human ills. Inwardly he was exceeding wroth with William Carter. His wrath and his fears continued well into the next morning, until he saw Virginia, pale but smiling, seated in the old wagonette, and Lucas driving sedately down the roadway to the gate. The colonel observed their departure with an anxious eye. He was not sure now that Virginia cared. She was pale, but she was holding her own. The idea that William Carter had dared to come straight back--after that trial and all! “The lummox!” the colonel growled under his breath. “The cowardly lummox--he knew I was out.” Meanwhile, Lucas was driving slowly along the turnpike down which Fanchon had galloped, followed by Corwin--on his way, as it turned out, to his death; for that ride had led straight to the climax in the upper room of the inn. As it transpired later on, both Virginia and Lucas were thinking of it as the colonel’s slow old horses trotted along under the spreading branches of the great trees which stood like sentinels on either side of the wide road.